Chapter 40

Faye

“You and Lincoln Foxx?” Bea says with a side glance.

“That’s what I said,” Maggie adds from the front seat.

“Not surprised. They have that way about them, those Foxx boys.”

“I came back for a job and for Maggie. Lincoln ended up being...a bonus,” I tell them with a shrug, not able to hide my smile.

They both sniff out a laugh. And then Harper adds, “All of my bonuses ended up being Jelly of the Month clubs, if you catch my drift.”

“The last bonus I had, I faked,” Maggie sighs. But before I can even get a laugh out, Harper cuts the wheel into a private airfield and pulls right up to a small plane that looks like it’s fueled and ready to start taxing.

“I understand the appeal. Really, I do.” Harper hops out of the truck and adds, “Griz wasn’t too rough on the eyes back in the day.” She blows out a plume of smoke as I help my sister out of the truck and we hustle toward the private plane.

A bulky pilot stands at the end of the two boarding stairs with his arms crossed. “Harper, you realize I’m not your personal pilot, right? They have services for that. Your branch of government, in fact, has a fleet of airplanes and pilots for this kind of thing.”

“And yet, here you are, Riggs,” she claps back as she moves up the stairs. Over her shoulder, she says, “Henry, this is Faye and Maggie. You never saw them. This is off the books.” She flicks her clove. “You know how that goes, right?”

Whatever history exists between them has him grunting to himself and giving Maggie and me nothing more than a quick nod.

Five hours later, after a fairly long flight and a short drive, we pull off the stretch of road. With nothing more than flat lands on either side and mountains in front of us, we park along the front of a small square diner with a sign that reads: Hideaway. At just past 7:30 in the morning local time, it looks closed. Except for the one car parked in the front and a tawny-colored horse tied up on a pole.

Bea shifts the truck into park and opens her door. “Maybe you girls want to grab a coffee. And then, Faye, you can decide what you’d like to do.” She stretches her arms above her head and pulls out another clove. “You’ve got twenty-minutes, and then decide if you’re feeling like heading back, or if you’d like to stay and explore what Montana has to offer.”

Maggie clears her throat and whispers, “This is real, right? I’m not in some post-life haze where I think it’s real and I’m dead?”

I pinch the skin above her elbow.

“Ow,” she yells out. “Fuck a duck, Faye.”

I shrug a shoulder. “Feels real to me.” I take a grounding breath and hold the door handle. Before I pull, I ask, “Ready?”

She nods. And when we walk into the small shop, the bell on the door that clamors against the glass reminds me of Hooch’s. The snow that dusted the path we took from the car to the door is stuck to my shoes, but I stomp them off quickly. The woman behind the counter gives us both a kind smile. “You can sit anywhere you’d like, ladies.”

But as I look down the length of the room, my eyes stop on the only other person in the place. A woman at the end of the bar with a cup of tea and a pastry, who’s looking right back at us like the world just paused and somehow her eyes are seeing something she can’t believe. My chest hollows out and then expands as if someone just passed air into my lungs.

She stands, and with watery eyes, says, “When Bea texted, I didn’t think—” Her hand flies over her mouth as her eyes pinch closed. But it’s Maggie who doesn’t waste any more seconds and limps over to her faster than I thought she would be able to move right now.

Their arms fly around the other, and the only sounds are whimpering cries mixed with my mother’s calm voice that I hadn’t realized how much I missed hearing. “My darling girls.” Her eyes close as she whispers, “What are you doing here?”

She leans back and holds Maggie’s arms out. “Just look at you, Maggie.” Worrying her lips, she looks past my sister to me. My mother is still so beautiful. Small signs that time hasn’t stood still—her wavy, wheat-colored hair is streaked with more silver than blonde and cropped into a short bob now. She wears a pair of worn jeans, cowgirl boots, and a tied off Carly Simon tour t-shirt. Her long cardigan sweater looks hand-knitted and warm enough for what’s left of winter.

“Mom...” is the only thing I can get out before I wrap my arms around her. She smells just like I remember—lavender and sugar. She smells like home.

“Oh, Faye, honey.” Her voice breaks when she says, “My beautiful girl. My protector.” She pulls back to look at me. “I’m so sorry. Oh, I messed up so horribly.” Pausing, she bites back the sob I know she’s holding in. “I just let you clean up a mess that you had no business being near. I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. “I know,” I tell her through my own tears.

She looks around us toward the waitress. “Annie, can you bring these girls some coffee?”

We move into a booth, and she smiles at the waitress, waiting for her to leave before we say anything more. “Thanks, Annie.” Reaching for a hand from both Maggie and me, she then says, “Tell me everything.”

Maggie takes the lead on telling her about the night that Tullis died. How Maggie saw everything. How she watched Waz murder his own brother, threaten her, and how I assumed Mom had killed him.

“There was never a time to tell you. And what good would it have done? There was no way I could have known what was coming,” Maggie says. She glances at me before she continues with what Griz told us. “That Waz continued to threaten you.” I squeeze Maggie’s hand.

“I thought if I took myself out of the equation, then you both would be safe. I didn’t want to leave,” Mom says, looking up.

Maggie wipes under each eye. “We had a memorial for you.”

I chime in, “The whole town celebrated you, Mom. All the girls from your book club. Everyone who knew you missed you.”

“And then I found my own brand of coping,” Maggie says. “A lot of drinking and gambling. But it served two purposes.” She glances at me. “My vices turned into exactly what I needed to get into Finch & King’s radar.”

Our mother looks at me quizzically, and then back to Maggie. “Please tell me you didn’t get involved.”

“She did more than just get involved, Mom.” We spend the next handful of minutes talking about exactly what brought Maggie and me here. But that, of course, led to even more questions.

So we sit together in the middle-of-nowhere diner for most of the morning while Maggie and I share every detail, from my involvement with Blackstone to the carefully orchestrated system that Maggie had been able to deliver to the FBI. Between the surveillance I’d pulled, the delivery of drugs via private auction, the long money trail, fixed off-track betting, and the suspicious deaths of horses, trainers, and jockeys, all of it built a case pointing directly at Finch & King.

Our mom’s eyes close when she asks, “Are they looking for you? Those men have reach. Waz is the psychopath. He will keep coming after you. But just because Wheeler doesn’t get his hands dirty doesn’t mean he forgets anything. He hires people?—”

But I cut her off. “Mom, Waz is dead.”

She searches our faces, eyes wide when she asks, “How?”

“Last night. Lincoln was there,” I answer. “He got there just in time.”

“Lincoln Foxx? Griz’s grandson? What was he doing...”

Maggie props her elbows on the table and her chin on her palms. “Oh yeah, Mom. That’s the best part. Faye went ahead and fell in love with him while all of this was happening.”

With a watery laugh, she says, “Something about those Foxx boys.” Her eyebrows raise. “I get it. I fell for one too.”

I look out the window at the quietness of the town she’s set up in. “Griz didn’t come with you.”

She shakes her head and takes a sip of her tea. “He had a life and family he needed to be there for. They needed him more than I did.”

“He told me to tell you that he thinks about you every day,” I say.

Her eyes water all over again. She dabs at the corners with her napkin. “Bea picked Montana. Middle of nowhere, but she picked a place where I can ride a horse instead of drive a car if I want.” She laughs lightly, smiling. “She comes off harsh, but she knew it would be a good place for me. When I got here, I was in bad shape. I had a lot of healing to do.” She bites back the emotion as she says, “Guilt for leaving. And never having the chance to tell you both how much I loved you.”

I swipe away the tears and take a steadying breath.

“The horse sanctuary I’ve opened has become a place of healing. For me and for a number of women who need to find their footing again. I was here for about a month, and when I went to the bank to open an account, there had already been one opened there under my new name. It had just over a quarter of a million dollars in it.”

Maggie guesses what I’m thinking. “Griz.”

Mom smiles and nods. “That was my guess. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. We had six months together, and it was the most I ever felt love from a partner before. That feeling, once you have it, you feel lucky for it.” Quiet for a moment, she sits back and looks out the window. “And Bea has been a good friend when I need a familiar face. It’s simple and calm, but I have a good life here. As good as it can be without my beautiful daughters. I’ll never forgive myself for allowing my mess to bleed into your lives.”

I swipe away the tears that just keep coming. “I never thought I’d have this with you—another minute to tell you I love you and that I’ve missed you.” I look over at the clock, recognizing that we’ve more than exceeded the time Bea Harper had laid out for us.

“I saw you once,” my mom says, drawing my attention back. “On stage in a club in Louisiana.”

“Mom...” I never thought she would have seen me dance like that. And I’m not embarrassed, more proud than anything.

“The one thing you never knew, Faye. That I never had the chance to tell you.” She holds my hand and the lull of her voice makes me want to savor every moment of this. “I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become. The way you look dancing is the way I feel about training horses. It makes up a part of you. Not defines, but molds, and makes us stronger. Finding things that make you feel like the best version of yourself is the kind of life I always hoped for you. And private investigating...” She smiles to herself. “You’re a protector, a fixer, and that was bound to shine through somewhere.”

The affirmation isn’t something I thought I needed, but it hits my chest like a freight train.

A clank on the window has the three of us jumping. Bea stands there as she points at her watch. She calls out loud enough to hear through the glass and quiet of the outside. “Time to go.”